


Cabin by the Shore

by IndigoDream



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game)
Genre: (but is bad at expressing it), (from Jaskier this time lmao), Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angry Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Angst with a Happy Ending, Apologies, Arguing, Baby Cirilla Fiona Elen Riannon, Emotional Hurt, Hurt Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Jaskier | Dandelion Loves Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, M/M, Non-Human Jaskier | Dandelion, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Powerful Jaskier, Sea Monsters, Self-Hatred, original characters appear
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-17
Updated: 2021-03-04
Packaged: 2021-03-15 21:55:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,243
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28820322
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IndigoDream/pseuds/IndigoDream
Summary: Jaskier fled Geralt's side briefly and headed to the coast. There, he has been pondering what to do, whether to return to the sea where he belongs or to stay on land, where he will make mistakes.When Geralt arrives to the hamlet where the bard has been hiding away, he asks Jaskier for his help in protecting Ciri, his Child Surprise.Jaskier has to deal with what he wants and what he cannot have, and he has no idea how he will deal.
Relationships: Cirilla Fiona Elen Riannon & Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Cirilla Fiona Elen Riannon & Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 33
Kudos: 110





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Weee so hello, welcome to my humble abode [ushers you all in] 
> 
> I did not plan to post this fic before I was finished with writing it but oh well, the posting bug bit me. I hadn't yet posted in 2021!! And this fic is important to me. 
> 
> I hope y'all will enjoy it!

It is always a bittersweet experience to come back to the coast. There is nothing that Jaskier loves more than the sea, than the feeling of saltwater in his hair and on his skin. Well, that’s not quite true. There is Geralt. He wouldn’t give up Geralt for the sea, even if the idea of no longer being able to return to his home tears him up inside. 

Of course, Geralt has no idea of his devotion. Jaskier decided long ago that he would not tell him, that he would keep the quiet flame of his love to himself. It isn’t too hard to do, after all. A song here, a kiss from a beautiful woman there, two glasses too much of whiskey after a set and a night with a handsome stranger… Ignoring his feelings is something he has grown accustomed to, no matter how much he hates it. 

It had been what had sent him here, after all. The very reason why he couldn’t go back home and see the shining palace of Lettenhove anymore. Jaskier had always been a touch too good at avoidance, at forgetting his duties and ignoring his truth. He was always a little too good at being a liar. 

“Mister,” a hand tugs on his sleeve, and he turns to look at the child next to him. Her big brown eyes seem to stare into his soul and he almost wonders if she isn’t one of his mother’s spy, but she smells too human for that. The sea always linger on her spies. “A man asked for you at the inn.” 

Jaskier frowns. He came away here to be left alone, to forget everything. He has, after all, come to his senses. He is aware that he shouldn’t run from himself anymore. This is why he came back to the sea, for the last time. To beg forgiveness, and be allowed within his mother’s realm again. He doesn’t care if he is no longer the prince, if his sisters have surpassed him. He only wants to feel the cold of the deep sea on his skin, enjoy the slight rays of the sun filtering through a few times a day… He wants to forget what it was like to be Jaskier, poet and bard. Because being Jaskier is a lie, even if it is the truest lie he has ever told. 

“Do you know what he looked like?” He stands up, brushing the sand away from his pants and doublet. No matter how unwanted this visit is, he can still look his best. 

“He had two big swords on his back, and really white hair,” the girl says, starting to walk, unaware of the chaos her words have caused. “Ma said I should go get you immediately, so I didn’t see anything else, mister! He was carrying something in his arms though.” 

Jaskier has frozen in place. It’s not difficult to know who the innkeeper’s daughter is talking of. But what’s Geralt doing here? Why would Geralt be here? Jaskier _left_ him. Jaskier left him right after Geralt had kissed him, like a coward. 

He should have been ecstatic. He should have kissed back. He shouldn’t have pushed Geralt away and told him it was a bad idea. 

_“I’m not the one you think I am.”_

That’s what he had said, like a coward, before leaving. It has been a year now, and he had thought Geralt hated him now. So why is he coming to find him now, barely days after Jaskier has finally found the strength to give up on his mortal life and on his ridiculous feelings?

Walking back to the inn behind the happily chattering girl is difficult, more difficult than he would like. 

He can feel Geralt’s presence before he arrives at the inn, but there is something strange about it. Something lighter, and yet heavier, than what Geralt usually feels like. There are tendrils of Chaos that Jaskier doesn’t recognize; not Yennefer’s, not Triss’, not any of the mages he has met so far in his life on land. So Geralt has enamoured himself of a new sorceress, wonderful news. What does he even want with Jaskier if that is the case? Why seek out someone who hurt him? 

The inn is bustling with life, as it has been every day since Jaskier arrived the past week. People are always in and out, enjoying the pleasant company and the good food. It is, after all, the only place where people can meet in town; no tavern, no town hall. Only the inn, where travellers and locals mix up and dance around one another. A place that exists in a velvet pocket of time. 

Jaskier does enjoy this inn, more than any he has before. There is something appeasing about it, something comforting. It is a half-step between the Continent and his mother’s realm. 

“Here, mister Jaskier,” the girl tugs on his hand. “Mom led him to one of the backrooms, said it would be safer for you two there!” 

With a bit of a smile, he lets himself be dragged towards the door. His heart beats madly with a wish to disappear, and yet, he follows. His heart hammers in his chest, his body grows hot and cold within seconds, and he can feel time and space slowing down as he looses his control. He pulls himself back together right in time; the girl is opening the door and stepping aside. 

“Here you go mister!” 

She smiles brightly and, avoiding looking at Geralt for one more moment, Jaskier digs into his purse and fishes out a gold crown. She squeals when he hands it to her, and he can’t help but ruffle her hair as she slips away. Not having an excuse, he looks up, to see the man his heart has been yearning for ever since they were separated. 

Geralt is as beautiful as ever, despite the exhaustion clear on his face. He has a new scar too, long and thin, going through his left eye, an almost delicate thing. It isn’t healed properly, and Jaskier’s hands itch to reach out and take care of it, but he never has before. Why start now?

“It’s good to see you, Jaskier.” Geralt says, voice polite and flat. Jaskier swallows. The witcher continues. “Come sit down with us.” 

Us? Jaskier tilts his head, and it’s then that he sees it. Well, not it. _Her_. 

Bundled on his knee, a small figure is sleeping, golden hair fallen in front of her face. It isn’t hard for Jaskier to guess who the baby is; it can only be the daughter of Pavetta, the child to whom Geralt is bound by Destiny. 

“Uh.” 

Geralt’s mouth twitches, almost a smile, and Jaskier’s heart flutters painfully. There had been a time when he had been allowed to have Geralt’s smile. Now that he has ruined everything, he isn’t private to that gentleness. He sits down, gulping. 

“It’s. It’s good to see you too.” 

Humming, Geralt scrutinizes him. “It has been some time since we parted.” _Since you left me behind_. Jaskier doesn’t need him to say it to hear it. 

“It has.” Jaskier gulps, bites his lips. “I-“ 

“I need your help,” Geralt cuts in, clearly not fond of the prospect of an apology from Jaskier. “ _We_ need your help.” 

Jaskier frowns a bit. “My help? But I’m- I can’t- I’m just a bard!” 

“Bullshit.” Geralt rolls his eyes. “You’re not just a bard. You disappeared without a trace for months. I tried to find you but you were completely gone.” 

“You are here though,” he answers a bit lamely, and tries not to wither under Geralt’s flat glare. “How did you even find me?” 

“I didn’t. Ciri did.” 

In his arms, the child stirs, yawning. Her eyes flutter open, and Jaskier finds himself looking at two forest green irises, full of joy and life, and yet, full of something that pulls to his very soul. She is more than human, stronger than even Jaskier’s mother, magic swirling around her tiny fist without the world noticing. 

“I was… She heard one of your songs,” Geralt says roughly, and Jaskier realizes that Geralt _sang_ to the child, and it was one of his own songs. His heart valiantly attempts to escape his chest once more. “And she… I don’t know how she did this, but she showed you to me. Showed me the coast, and the village. Instinctively, I knew how to reach you. She wanted me to find you again, so I did.” 

Jaskier stares at the child, who can only be two years old at most, and she stares back. How? How could she know where he was? And most importantly, _why_?

“We need to hide,” Geralt continues, seemingly unaware or uncaring of Jaskier’s emotional tumble. “And this place is… well, it’s pretty lost. You can hide us, until it’s safe for us to travel.” 

“I…” Jaskier considers it. He could yes, but it would mean remaining with Geralt and… “Why choose me? You have plenty powerful friends.” 

“I told you. Ciri wanted me to bring her to you. And Yennefer wouldn’t have been able to help. She’s been… taken prisoner, of sort. Aretuza demanded her presence in urgent matters.” 

“Taken prisoner, is that how she calls it? She must not like the home of the sorceresses…” 

“Will you help or not?” 

Jaskier bites his lips. Does he really have a choice now? He wants to help Geralt, wants to make amends and find the peace he had once cultivated at Geralt’s side. And there is the young Ciri, looking at him again, eyes full of too much keenness. He wants to squirm away from her gaze. 

“Yes,” he finally breathes. “Of course.” 

There is no missing the relief that spreads through Geralt’s body when Jaskier answers this, and he nods. “Thank you.” 

Jaskier sits, finally, and he feels the warmth from the Witcher and the child, feels the bond of Destiny that tie them together. 

"I'll get you two settled in a nearby cabin then," he says nervously. "I know one of the locals, a fisherman, has been looking into selling his cabin on the northern shore. It’s a bit hard to get to, if you don’t know the way, but you’ll be safe there.” 

“A fisherman’s cabin.” Geralt repeats. “Ciri is young.” 

“I know,” Jaskier is quick to answer. “But I’ll make sure it’s safe. And I’ll bring you food and everything you need for her, you won’t even have to leave the cabin.” 

“You aren’t … staying.” 

Jaskier is a bit taken aback by the question. He had assumed that this was what Geralt wanted, that being around him would not be desired. Is he wrong? Is this his chance at fixing what he did?

“I… Do you want me to?” 

There is a long silence, and Geralt scrutinizes him for a bit, before shrugging, although there is a pain in his eyes that Jaskier hates. “Do as you wish.” 

A knock interrupts them, and Jaskier bolts upright, magic swirling in his hand before he realizes that the woman walking in holds two plates. Mara, the innkeeper, nods at him and Geralt, and smiles a bit when she sees Ciri. 

“Thought you could both use some warm food. Mister Jaskier, I went ahead and gave your friend the room next to yours. Will you two be staying long?” 

She has directed the last question to Geralt, and Jaskier fidgets a bit with the hem of his shirt. The cape still draped over his shoulders feels too warm now, over heating him and he wants nothing more than to remove it. Still, he doesn’t dare. 

“I’ll be settling them in Andor’s cabin, if he is still selling,” Jaskier answers for the witcher. “I’ll go find him now, actually.” 

“You should eat some, put some meat on your bones while you still can. The winter is going to be there soon, sonny.” 

He wants to object to being called 'sonny' by a woman less than a third his age, but he can't said anything, not in front of Geralt who doesn't _know_. It's one thing that the Witcher suspects Jaskier isn't a common bard; it's an entirely different thing to discover the extent of Jaskier's lack of humanity. 

But rather than saying any of that, he smiles wearily, thanks her and leaves the room quickly. Still, the tension in his shoulders doesn’t leave. He knows he shouldn’t have done this, shouldn’t have left without a word like a coward, but staying has never been his forte. He stayed with Geralt for a little over ten years, and look where that lead the two of them. Heartbreak and pain for Geralt, and harrowing sorrow for Jaskier. And now that it had been done, it could not be undone, and Jaskier would have to live with the knowledge that he had broken Geralt’s heart, when he had been the only one allowed close to it. 

Tears pushing at his eyes, he bites his lips until he feels the sharp tang of blood on his tongue, and he takes a few seconds to breathe before he walks out. Geralt’s heartache will fade, and the witcher’s pain will be no more than an unwanted memory before he realizes it. Until then, Jaskier must hold within himself the painful feelings clawing at his chest, the ugly desire to keep Geralt all to himself and love him the way no human should be loved; possessively and endlessly, in a beastly manner that would leave no place for the gentleness and careful that human loving requires. Jaskier is not human enough to love Geralt the way he deserves to be. 

His feet lead him to the pier, where Andor is sitting, nodding off the mossy, seaweed-covered, turned over back of his boat. The old thing had hit a few bad patches, rocks tearing into the bottom of it and leaving the sweet old fisherman with feet up to his ankles. Now, Andor sits quietly, chewing on some tobacco he had most likely snatched from one of his sons, and he contemplates the rest of the village. 

“Wondered when I would see you, stranger,” Andor says teasingly as he nods his head to Jaskier. “Finally decided to learn the fine art of fishing?” 

"I don't need you to catch my preys," Jaskier smiles back. "You were expecting me?" 

"Saw your Witcher walk in town. The man isn't exactly discreet." 

Andor is old, older than anyone in the village, the quarter of elven blood prolonging his life. Still, he is getting old now, losing some of the sharpness of his senses although his mind remains attuned to every possible detail. 

"How did you-" 

"Who do you take me for, Jaskier? Of course I had heard of you before you came here. Gossip and fantastic tales like the legend of the prince who ran away for a wolf are the currency of my world." 

"Our world," Jaskier corrects despite the way it twists his guts. “I am a prince of the sea.” 

“Aye,” the old man nods. “That you are, your lordship. That doesn’t mean you want to remain in that world.” 

Jaskier feels a pang of sorrow and guilt washing over him. Does he? He abandoned his mother’s realm over ten years ago. To beings like them, immortals to which the years are merely shadows, ten years is next to nothing. But now that Jaskier has lived amongst humans, now that he has loved and adored, tasted the fineries of the human world, ten years feel like an eternity. 

“I did not come here to speak of my life,” Jaskier spits out, tone harsher than he had intended, but the old man doesn’t flinch. “Are you still selling your cabin?” 

Now, Andor looks surprised. “What would you do with the cabin, boy?” 

Jaskier resists the urge to growl and snap. That would lead to nothing, and he needs the cabin. This protectiveness tearing at his throat won’t help. Andor isn’t even asking anything bad or intrusive. Still, inside Jaskier, the idea of Ciri and Geralt trusting him to keep them safe whips around wildly.

“My business with it is not yours. I aim to own it, and maintain it. Are you still selling it or should I ask elsewhere?” 

“Hasty prince,” Andor smiles. “You have your mother’s spark.” 

Jaskier bristles this time, and he can’t help the short baring of his teeth. Still, he calms down quickly. He loves his mother, yes, and she is not a bad person, but still. There is something uncomfortable in being compared to her. Jaskier left her realm to find himself, not to be reminded of the failure he was there. 

“Will you sell it or not?” He hisses the words this time, and the sea gets agitated, whipping on the pier violently. 

Andor’s eyes widen and he nods. “Yes, your highness.” 

It’s the first time that any of the titles Andor has been addressing him with hold reverence, although it is tinged with fear, and guilt claws at Jaskier. 

“I’m sorry-“ he starts, but Andor stops him with a hand held up. 

“No need, my prince. I was prying when I had no right to. My cabin is yours for a hundred gold, and the land surrounding it for a hundred more.” 

Sighing, Jaskier takes out his coin pouch. He has more savings hidden away, and a spell will have them brought back close to him, but still. This is a few days of performance, and while he hasn’t paid much since he arrived here five days ago, two hundred coins is a high price to pay for what he knows will be a rudimentary cabin with little accommodations. Still, if it is what he has to pay to keep Geralt and his Child Surprise safe, then so be it. He would pay much more for that. He throws in a few more coins, rounding it up to two hundred and fifty coins, so that Andor will let him move in that very day, before parting ways with the old fisherman. 

Stepping away from the pier is a relief. Jaskier loves the sea, it makes him feel more like himself than anything, even music, ever could. Still, it snaps him back to a world underwater and the loneliness and anger that had marked his days. It hadn’t helped that Andor had known him and had needled him. It seems that Jaskier will never be free of his mother’s spies, even on dry land. 

The walk back to the inn is both excruciatingly long and infuriatingly short. Jaskier replays the last moments he had seen Geralt as he walks, the way the witcher had looked so hopeful and happy when Jaskier had kissed back, before his whole body had closed off and his eyes had regained a mistrust that hadn’t been present since the first year they had travelled together. Then Jaskier had left in the middle of the night, too ashamed to even leave a note. If Geralt had known the truth, if he had understood the depth of Jaskier’s feelings for him as well as who Jaskier truly was, then it would have broken his heart more than Jaskier leaving. Being loved by a sea monster, being in love with one, that was a disgusting thing to be.

“Where did you run off to?” Geralt is leaning outside of the inn, cradling a mug of Mara’s famous hot cider, and Jaskier throws around a look, trying to find Ciri. “She’s with the innkeeper and her daughter. Answer the question.” 

The bluntness and anger of his words doesn’t miss Jaskier, and the bard flinches slightly. “I was securing you and Cirilla a home.” 

“Just her and me then.” Geralt takes a swig of his cider and nods. “Good.” 

Jaskier bites his lips. “How have you been?” 

“Why do you care?” Geralt asks, full of reproach. 

His anger sours the air and shame fills Jaskier. He had hurt Geralt this way. He was the one who kept telling the witcher that he deserved good things and that he deserved to love and be loved, and yet, he was also the one who had abandoned him when he had sought those very things.

“I… Can’t we be friends again? I know you didn’t want to find me again but-“ 

“You have no idea what I want or not. Don’t presume.” With that, Geralt finishes his drink and walks back inside, the door closing with a loud noise. 

Jaskier watches it, and then moves away, until he is sitting in the bushes that surround the inn, and no one will see him weep there. His heart breaks, again and again, until the pain becomes numb once more. Then, he stays some more, so that the cold of the falling night will bite into his skin and gnaw at him. 

It is only when the moon is high in the sky that he gets up from his hiding place, his limbs protesting after hours spent hiding like a coward. He stretches, bringing forth a small flame. It dances in his palm and around his fingers, and he knows that, were anyone to see him now, they would most likely yell and take him for some kind of beast, but Jaskier is confident that at this hour, there is no one to pass by in the village.

He doesn’t notice the golden eyes watching him from the window of one of the inn’s rooms. 

Setting out towards the cabin, he finds his way through the unruly path that snakes through high grass and thick trees. His new acquisition is hidden away on a plot that is half beach, half forest. It is a bit rundown, he notices when he walks closer, and he nods to himself. That was to be expected. 

The insides aren’t much better than the outsides. There are cobwebs and spiders, moss that grows underneath a leaking sink… Jaskier removes his doublet and lays it on the back of a chair that he deems clean enough. Then, with a precision that he acquired after ten long years, he folds his sleeves neatly. 

“Let’s get started.” 

Chaos swirls around him in unbreakable patterns that would leave the most powerful of mages speechless. He has work to do.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The cabin is done. Now, Jaskier has to get Geralt and Ciri there, and hopefully not fuck it all up. Easier said than done.

Exhaustion tugs at Jaskier’s very soul when he is done with the cabin. Where he had once stood in a mess of broken wood and growing moss, his feet are now anchored on polished hardwood, the whole cabin smelling ever so faintly of the sea. It’s his magic, leaving a little stamp on what it changes. He checks the rooms quickly, notes that as he had intended, there are three large bedrooms and a smaller room for the nursery where young Cirilla will sleep for a few years. 

The kitchen is properly arranged, and so is the bathroom, which he made sure to make as efficient as he could. It is located at the back of the cabin, nearest to the shore, and there is a large tub made of smooth limestone. A twist of his hand and it fills with water, and Jaskier smiles, pleased with himself. He has done even better than he hoped. 

Making the water vanish is even easier, and he quickly finishes his tour of the cabin before he heads out again, layering protection spell after protection spell. The scent of his magic is indistinguishable from the warm sea breeze that washes over him as he walks back calmly to the inn. 

Geralt and Cirilla are waiting for him when he crosses the threshold of the establishment, and it’s only then that he realizes that the sun has long passed its zenith. He hurries to their table, noting with fondness that the witcher is gently bouncing the baby. 

“My apologies for my delay,” he starts, the nervousness of seeing Geralt again still choking him. “I had to make sure your new home would be comfortable enough for you and the child.” 

“Right. The cabin.” Geralt grunts and nods, slowing his movements when he notices that Ciri seems to have fallen asleep once more. “When can we go there then? The less time we spend here, the easier it will be to not be noticed.” 

“People will talk,” Jaskier warns him, waving Mara over. “Although they may not to travellers, people will wonder about the strange man living on the edge of the forest.” 

Mara walks closer by before Geralt can answer, and Jaskier orders himself a plate. Geralt seems to have eaten already, although considering the state of his plate, the bard can see it wasn’t satisfying. Ignoring the witcher’s annoyed huff, he orders a second plate for Geralt. 

“You didn’t have to do this.” 

“I wanted to. Is that not enough?” 

Geralt barks a joyless laugh, quickly quietening to not wake up the sleeping babe in his arms. “You’re peculiar with what you want, or don’t want.” 

The barb hurts, more than Jaskier wished it did, but he deserves it. He hurt Geralt, and he has no idea how to make it right. He had been interested, flirting and being sweeter on Geralt than on anyone else. He had let the witcher develop feelings for him, and had never revealed to him his true nature. And Geralt would never love a son of the sea. Jaskier wouldn’t deceive him anymore. 

“I’m-“ 

“Don’t.” Geralt shoots him a harsh look, and Jaskier freezes. “I don’t want to hear it.” 

“Geralt, I know I hurt you but-“ 

“You don’t have to apologize for not returning my… my feelings.” It seems to pain Geralt physically to say those words; his face is scrunched up as if he had been eating something much too sour, and he clenches his fist. “I acted in the heat of the moment and I didn’t consider your feelings. I should be the one apologizing.” 

_But you aren’t sorry_ , Jaskier doesn’t say. In truth, he can’t say anything. Geralt has nothing to apologize for, and yet here he is, the great git of a man, apologizing anyway. Jaskier wishes he could allow himself to hold onto Geralt’s hand, so that he could comfort him even a little bit. But he knows that, where he to touch Geralt again, he wouldn’t be able to stop himself. His desire for Geralt is all-encompassing, and restraining himself is easier when he can keep his distance. If he were to accidentally put the witcher under a spell, Jaskier would never forgive himself. His mother was right; emotions make him dangerous, and wild. 

Gods, his mother would laugh herself silly if she could see what he has become. Everything she warned him against, he has done, and promptly regretted. He loved and loved and _loved_ , boundlessly until his heart burst and he could do nothing but forget himself in his love for a man. He left the path she had set out for him, the one that would have had him become King at her side, to be _free_. But freedom meant nothing on land. Freedom meant sorrow and pain. At least, Jaskier’s did. 

When he had been young, well young **er** , his mother had taken him to the edge of the world. There was no edge as such, of course, but to them, to the wild creatures of the sea, there was one: land. She had held him in her hand, her so large that she could span across countries if she had so wished and him so small he would have looked no bigger than a mere pebble if a human had spotted them. 

"The land is no friend of yours, my sweet son. It will take you and twist you, and it will turn you, bringing bitterness and anger to your lovely voice. The water will always hold you. It will carry you home, if you will it to. You simply have to listen to it." 

Jaskier left despite her warnings. Jaskier wanted freedom, so freedom he gave himself. 

Geralt is looking at him when Jaskier comes back to himself, and the bard smiles, apologetic. There is no time to say anything else however. Mara walks back to their table and gives them the two plates, and this time her daughter is walking behind her, peering at Geralt with her large children’s eyes. There is something so endearing at seeing the witcher’s face when he knows he is observed by children: his brow smooths over, and his eyes are more gentle. What Jaskier loves most though is the way his whole body seems to relax, as if children allowed Geralt to feel more at ease. It’s a beautiful thing to witness. 

Ciri wakes up while Geralt and Jaskier are eating, and the girl hardly picks a fuss. She is strange, with her green eyes and her magic that had found Jaskier. He had placed quite the cloaking spell upon himself, and upon this whole town, to prevent any witcher to find him. Whether by Geralt or one of his angry brothers, Jaskier had wanted to not be bothered. He had wanted to be left alone. It seems Cirilla of Cintra had decided otherwise. 

“Let’s get you to your new home.” Jaskier smiles as he stands up. “Do you want me to hold her while you gather your belongings?” 

The witcher gives him a wary look, and Jaskier tries to not feel hurt by that. He has no right to feel hurt. He is the one who messed up, the one who left Geralt to think he didn’t love him. He will bear that mistake in his heart until the day he dies. 

“I can handle both fine.” 

“Right,” Jaskier mutters as he follows Geralt back to the room where his meagre pack is waiting, half sprawled out from having been looked through earlier. He can only assume that it happened when Geralt was trying to dress himself back up while keeping Ciri under watch. If Jaskier isn’t mistaken, the girl is old enough to start attempting to walk, although his knowledge of human infants is rather limited. “Are you sure?” 

“Yes.” 

He doesn’t ask again. Instead, he waits patiently, letting Geralt take the time that he needs. At the very least, he can drown in the sight of Geralt. He shouldn’t, he is well aware that it is a bad idea to allow himself to do this. It doesn’t mean he can stop himself. Being drawn to Geralt isn’t exactly a decision he takes. It happens, whether he wants to or not. 

Jaskier pays Mara for both the meals and the lodgings, and then goes outside with the witcher. They retrieve Roach in the stables and sets off, and all that without another word exchanged between Jaskier and Geralt. It’s odd this silence between them. Well, no it isn’t odd, but it isn’t _right_. When they had travelled before, life poured out of Jaskier’s mouth in songs and ballads, in inane stories and jokes that had the witcher rolling his eyes. Now, the only sound is Ciri’s babble every few minutes. 

“This is the cabin?” 

Geralt has stopped walking, looking at the house Jaskier renovated for him. It is quite gorgeous now, looking brand new. Jaskier can almost see the way it awaits life. A small thread of pride runs through him as he realizes what he has done exactly. He has given Geralt and Ciri a real home, a place where they could be safe together. 

“It is,” Jaskier answers. “There is space for a garden if that’s what you wish, and the woods don’t belong to any lord, if you ever want to hunt. The local people are more fishermen, but I’m sure you could find a couple of hunters to tell you where to go if you wanted.” 

Geralt chuckles, short but real. “I don’t need to be indicated where to go, Jask.” 

The nickname seems to slip out of him without his consent and he frowns again. It’s his usual expression, of course, but there is a deeper sadness that Jaskier wants to smooth over. Before he had fucked everything up, Geralt had sometimes called him nicknames. Jask had been the most common one, slurred over campfires when the bard would keep strumming his lute and stop his witcher from sleeping, but there had been a few others too: buttercup, lark… Those were the ones Jaskier had cherished until the very end. 

“Right,” he says again, quieter this time. “Well, let’s go in! I hope the interior will be to your liking as well.” 

Geralt rolls his eyes, but there is a hint of fondness that makes Jaskier want to sing to the heavens. If there is even a hint that his friendship with Geralt could be restored, he will seize it and work for it until his hands bleed. 

Ciri is awake when they cross the threshold of the house, and she stares at everything around her in amazement. The world is a bright new thing for the toddler, and she lets out a few giggles as Geralt hoists her up higher in his arms. For his part, the witcher seems at loss for words. His eyes keep darting left and right, taking in the warm rug in front of the fireplace, the large cushions of the divan, or even the large dinner table. 

“Jaskier, how-“ 

“Just a little bit of luck and a lot of cleaning,” Jaskier lies smoothly. “Nothing to fret over. You have three bedrooms, one with a nursery attached, while Cirilla is still too young to sleep on her own. There is a bathing room at the end of the hall, and no need for the water to be brought in. The house was once owned by a mage, for vacations, and they made sure it was easy to use the bath. Cleaning yourself and Ciri will be easy. I have even gotten some of the oils you like, as well as a few bar soaps and-“ 

“You didn’t have to make it this luxurious. A small house would have been enough.” 

Jaskier startles. Geralt _knows_ , somehow. He knows that Jaskier is the one who made this cabin the home that it is. Which means he knows Jaskier isn’t human, that he possesses chaos. With a deep breath, he forces himself to calm down, pushing his thoughts away from the furious spiral of fear they had been drawn into. 

“I told you, it used to be a mage’s cabin. We both know mages love their comfort.” 

“Jaskier. Stop lying to me.” Geralt’s voice is even, but Jaskier can hear the pain underneath. “I’m not going to hurt you. No matter what you are.” 

“I- Thank you.” Jaskier looks away, his ears burning with shame. He knows Geralt would never hurt him, but he isn’t of the same world. He was meant to rule the seas, not walk by the shore and admire the crashing waves. “I hope you do like the cabin.” 

“I do. Though, I’ve never really lived anywhere, so this is… a lot.”

“What about Kaer Morhen?” 

“It wasn’t exactly a home. It’s always been too full of ghost. Only good things were my brothers and Vesemir.” 

Jaskier hums, and moves closer to the fireplace, kindling the fire with a few words. The flames lick at his hands, still on the wood, and he withdraws them quickly, hissing. They are an angry red now, and he groans a bit. He is too exhausted to heal himself right away, but after a few hours of sleep it should be much better. 

“Are you alright?” 

Geralt has moved closer, having put Ciri on the divan and made sure she wouldn’t fall. He crouches and examines the reddened palms of the bard with a deep frown. His fingers are cold on Jaskier’s wrists, freezing from the rising cold outside, and Jaskier shivers slightly. The sensation isn’t unpleasant though, and he holds back yet another blush. Even if Geralt is giving him a second chance at friendship, it doesn’t mean the witcher still has feelings for him. Even if he did, he deserves better than Jaskier’s love. 

“It’s nothing, dear.” 

“You burnt yourself! Your hands are burnt, how can you say this is nothing? You need to put a salve on it, or do something, I don’t know!” 

A smile, soft and tender, finds its way on Jaskier’s lips, not entirely unwillingly. If only he could tell Geralt, if he could explain that this is nothing… But if there is one rule he has always followed, one law he has always abided to, it is to never reveal his true nature. Who knew what kind of disaster could ensue, if people knew? Humans were cruel enough to his mother’s subjects; selkies, sirens, mer people… All have been hunted by humans and witchers alike. Even if Jaskier trusts Geralt, _loves_ Geralt, he knows he shouldn’t expose himself like this. 

Instead, he says nothing. He lets Geralt examine his hand, let the witcher tie bandages around his wound. It will be rendered useless in a few hours, once Jaskier has slept, but the attention is still there. Geralt still cares, despite his anger. 

"I shouldn't have left," Jaskier murmurs as Geralt picks Ciri back up. "It was cruel of me."

The witcher freezes, and then deliberately keeps his back to Jaskier. 

"You don't have to apologize for not returning my feelings." 

"I know," Jaskier keeps talking in a low, careful voice. "I am... glad that you don't hate me for it. I am not apologizing for that. And if I did, it would be false." 

Geralt turns then, Cirilla babbling in his arms and chewing on his hair. He looks half-wild, hair in disarray and eyes wider than even before. 

"I do... I do love you, Geralt." Jaskier's voice cracks, and the bard can't help but look away. There is a loud silence for a long moment as he catches his breath, focuses on what he has to say. When he looks back to Geralt, the witcher hasn't moved. "I have loved you for so long. I don't even know who I am without loving you. But I can't allow myself to be with you. I can't allow you to love me. You... you deserve better, Geralt. Miles better than me." 

"I chose you." 

That nearly makes Jaskier burst into tears, but he forces himself again to be steady. He can't tell Geralt why, but he can at least be honest on some other aspects. Geralt deserves that. 

"And I wish I could let you make that choice, but it's impossible. What about Yennefer? You told me once you loved her, can you not love her again?" 

Geralt's expression grows somber. His face, which has always been of marble and ivory, turns to molten gold with its anger. He steps forward, the girl in his arms softening the terrifying aspect of it, but Jaskier has never been afraid of Geralt. Not once, not on the first day they met, or on any hunt. He has seen the witcher in so many states some would call it insanity, him staying. Jaskier calls it love.

"Yennefer helped me realize what I felt for you," Geralt snarls, and then quiets down when Ciri gets agitated. He breathes in deeply and caresses the girl's head gently, soothing her. "She was the one to break our affair because she knew I would never be able to love her the way I love you. And after you fled, after Ciri's vision, she was the one to convince me to come here. Because she still cares for me, and I for her. Our love has run its course, and I cannot love her again simply because you are a coward!" 

The words strike Jaskier, as harsh and tough as Geralt had intended. Yennefer had known, the day she had healed him. She had known Jaskier wasn't human. She hadn't asked, afterwards, and Jaskier had never sought her out to discuss it. But she had _known_ and yet she had still encouraged Geralt to pursue the bard. Was she cruel, or simply optimistic? 

"You can't love me Geralt, it will destroy you. I can't give you what you need, and-“ 

“Who asked you to make that choice? Who told you you could decide that for me?” Geralt’s anger is a raw, agonizing thing as he fights to keep himself calm enough for the child in his arms. “I can decide for myself whether I can love you or not. You don’t get to make that decision for me.” 

“Is that what Yennefer told you when you told her of the wish?” 

It’s a cheap blow, something meant to push away Geralt. Jaskier knows that if he hurts the witcher, he will stop trying to know him. He hates this, hates himself for saying those things, and the look Geralt gives him says long. 

“How did you hear that?” The witcher demands, striding forward again, but Jaskier doesn’t budge. “Used your own Chaos maybe?” 

This time, Jaskier steps back. Geralt shouldn’t know. Geralt _mustn’t_ know. If Geralt knows, if he has noticed that Jaskier isn’t human, his mother will never welcome him back. He will be stranded, alone, in a land of strangers who would have his skin for less than a coin. 

“You have no idea what you are talking of, witcher,” Jaskier spits the words, fear making his voice shake. “Don’t meddle into affairs you do not understand.” 

Geralt growls. “I will meddle in whatever I want to, bard. And if you are so invested into what goes on between Yennefer and me, she knows. It’s her anger to bring upon me, you don’t get to use it against me.” 

He is right, and Jaskier feels himself shrink. He needs to go. He can’t stay anymore, his sadness and anger and worry creating a mix of emotions he can’t deal with.

“Right, well. I’ll leave you. I have to… I have to sleep. I’ll see you tomorrow.” 

Geralt stays silent while Jaskier walks to the door. 

“Are you always going to walk away?” His words are low, but Jaskier hears them anyway. The bard freezes as he reaches for the door handle. “Aren’t you tired of that running you do? You know I’ll always find you.” 

Jaskier wants to scream, wants to turn away and kiss the man senseless. _You’re doing this for him_ , he tells himself, but the words sound bitter and wrong in his mind. Geralt doesn’t want this. Geralt wants _him_. 

“I know,” he admits softly. “I want to stay, Geralt. I want that more than anything in the world.” 

“Then stay. Let me help you, let us have a chance.” 

“Not today,” Jaskier answers weakly, and opens the door, walking away. 

In his mind, his last answer dances a maddening rhythm into his mind. He should have said no. His chest beats madly with the idea that Geralt wants him still, despite all he has done. 

In the house, Geralt drops a kiss to Ciri’s forehead. The girl looks at him, her green eyes staring into his soul, and her little hand wraps around his finger. The gesture, small as it is, warms him more than the fire ever will. Even if things with Jaskier have gone to hell twice over, he still has her. His daughter. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> me, halfway through writing this chapter: aww Geralt and Jaskier are mending things this is good this will be a 3-parter like i had hoped  
> Jaskier: :)   
> Me: oh no 
> 
> Anyway, this is wild, i am now aiming for a 4 to 5 parter ! chapters will come as they please, i am not in the greatest state lately, so writing is slow on everything. 
> 
> hope you enjoyed it!

**Author's Note:**

> see yall next chapter! Let me know what you thought here in comments, or drop me a kudos if you want! Thanks for reading <3


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